


Other

by Anonymous



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Coraline - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coraline Fusion, Damian Wayne-centric, Fantasy Horror, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, background JayDick, buttons, buttons everywhere, cameos from cass and steph, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-14 19:43:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15396030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Coraline inspired AU where Damian, while grounded by Bruce, stumbles upon a small door in the manor and finds his 'other,' happier family, who have dark intentions.Don't necessarily have to have seen/read Coraline for this to make sense.





	1. One

It had rained that morning, and now the lawn of Wayne Manor was matted down and wet, the scent of moist dirt soaking through the walls. It made Damian curl his nose - it was a scent he encountered only after moving to Gotham, and left him with a lingering homesickness deep in his gut. 

“This is ridiculous,” Damian grumbled, pencil lead scratching deep ‘x’s into his sketchpad. He was seated at the breakfast table, Pennyworth steadfastly mending one of Bruce’s starch collared shirts across from him. Outside, the sky was dark, the city lights far from the hill the manor perched its watch on. Just beyond the breakfast table, the back screen door overlooked the barren garden, where the brick pond beneath the bridge had filled with rainwater. “The Joker is walking free in this wretched city, and here I am being wasted away.”

Pennyworth hummed but said no more. Even Titus at his feet, hidden beneath the table cloth, seemed more subdued that night, not even bothering to nip at Damian’s socks. 

“Father is putting the lives of innocent people at risk just because he thinks he can ground me like a child,” Damian continued. “How can he not see the error of his ways?”

“Are you not indeed a child, Master Damian?” Pennyworth inquired, eyes not lifting from his stitching. Damian scowled.

“ _-Tt-_ A child is something incompetent and naive, neither of which I am nor have I ever been,” Damian stated confidently, squaring his shoulders proudly. At this, Pennyworth did look up, only to give Damian a weary twitch of his lips before sighing and returning to his needlework. 

It was near two o’clock when the first of the bats returned. By then, Pennyworth had shooed Damian off to bed, though Damian lied awake feeling too hot beneath the covers, unused to sleeping so early. 

“I don’t know why I follow your stupid ass around, cause it seems all you care about is throwing me on mine!”

“Well guess what? No one is telling you to! Walk the hell out of here like you always do! See if I care!”

It was Grayson and Todd, fighting again. 

“You say that now, but give it a day, cause you’re gonna be crawling back with that stupid face of yours, saying _‘oh Jason, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to shoo you away. Come back to the manor, everyone misses you, I miss you-_ ”

“Well _excuse_ me for trying! You should be glad I even give a damn after all these stunts you pull again and again!”

There was a lull of quiet where Damian presumed Pennyworth must have interfered. He clutched the covers a bit closer to his chest, the cloth annealing to his sweaty palms. The silence continued for what felt like several minutes before there was a slam of a door, followed by angry footsteps up the stairs. He heard it pass his room, the footsteps cutting long shadows into the block of light beneath his door. Grayson - almost definitely Grayson - paused somewhere down the hall, sighing, before opening and closing a door behind him. Downstairs, the floors creaked lightly as Pennyworth disappeared back into the nooks of the manor, flipping the lights out after him. 

The silence was deafening, causing a high trill to ring in Damian’s ears. He couldn’t stand it. 

After rolling over one more time before rolling back, Damian threw back the covers and sunk his bare feet into the thick carpet. He snatched his sketchbook on the nightstand and grabbed a pencil from his desk. 

Outside, the manor was dark. Most of the windows were closed, mainly because there were too many and it became a hassle to open and close them each day. There was also the matter of his father, who preferred to be as unseen as possible. Though Damian shared many likes with his father, this was not one of them. The greenery outside the manor was a gentle kind of beautiful, one hardly found deeper in Gotham where Damian spent most of his nights. The beauty inside Gotham was a perverse and industrial one, made for those who preferred the art of decay.

Damian stalked down the hall in his bare feet, pausing before Grayson’s room, fingers twitching to twist the knob. It was possible Grayson was already asleep. The man was the kind who could fall asleep instantly, torrid imagination shut off with a click. Or at least Damian thought. There were also times deep in the night, on the occasion Grayson slept over, that Damian made out light noises from the other room, almost like a wiry scratching, or perhaps something akin to pages fluttering in the wind. 

In the moment, there was silence, and Damian willed his hands to still as he tiptoed past the door and down the stairwell, thinking perhaps he could sketch the ballroom ceiling.

It was past the kitchen that Damian felt his eyes pulled towards the back hall. It was a dusty hall, one Damian rarely ventured, bordering the edges of the ballroom and lined with old drawing rooms. In the occasion of a gala, it was where the Wayne children would escape to avoid the heat of the room, though not for long. Though they found the quiet comforting, the thick wall muffling the vivacious conversation so the party sounded nearly underwater, there was an unsettling presence to the shadows, almost as if it was thrumming with the busy noise of a dark photograph - tangible and crepuscular. 

As if pulled by a string tied to his gut, Damian crept into the hall, the air getting cooler the further he went. 

Fragile chandeliers clung to the ceiling, too high to dust the cobwebs gathered between the steel crafted bars. Faint in the air was a stale odor with a musty undertone - almost tangy, sour, possibly metallic - that seemed to emanate from the very walls. Perhaps it was because of the shadows, but the walls seemed to swallow him in onto the bed of its tongue that was the plum carpet. Behind him, the hall opening had become a dark block. Shivering, Damian was ready to leave when he caught sight of a drawing room deep in the hall, its heavy door propped open a crack.

Curious, Damian edged closer until the door towered over him. Lightly gripping the knob, he eased the door open, hands fumbling for the lightswitch only to find cloth covered furniture. Disappointed, Damian stepped into the room, crossing his arms. He flippantly peeked under the cloths, finding futons and ornately carved mahogany tables. They stood like badly shaped ghosts, reminding him of Grayson’s patchy Halloween costume the year before. 

Against the peeling wallpaper was a tall dresser - the tallest piece of furniture in the room - empty and smelling of mothballs. There was an admirable carving of a woman on its doors, one that had Damian itching for his pencil. It was as he bent closer, lowering himself down on his knees to inspect the carving, that he found the neat crack on the wall behind it. 

It was nearly perfectly covered, save for the bottom, exposed between the legs of the dresser. It ran too neat to be unintentional, and upon further inspection, it appeared to be a door - a small, rectangular door hidden in the wall. 

Pushing aside the dresser, Damian ran his fingertips along the edges, sketchbook long forgotten on the floor. Chips of sawdust and wallpaper clung to his skin as he slowly pried open the door, the plank of wood swinging open to reveal - 

\- a plaster wall.

Frowning, Damian knocked his knuckles against it, finding it hollow. He supposed it could have been an old vent shaft, blocked off due to mice or rats sneaking in from the garden. It looked way before his time, possibly installed back when his grandparents ruled the house, or maybe even before. Disappointed, Damian let the door swing back shut before dusting off his hands and getting back on his feet. Snatching up his sketchbook, he left the small drawing room, shutting off the lights and closing the door behind him, though not pushing back the dresser, leaving the door exposed to the open air.


	2. Two

The next morning Grayson was curled in upon himself at the breakfast table, Pennyworth puttering quietly in the kitchen. An ugly bruise marred his right eye shut, the edges beginning to taper off into yellow. It was raining again.

“What happened to you,” Damian said snarkily as he slipped into the kitchen to grab some fruit. His hand paused before the basket of apples, oranges, and bananas, most of them soft and overly ripe. 

“Got distracted,” Grayson muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. Damian plucked an orange, peeling it open above the garbage bin. His fingers sunk too easily into the soft, sticky flesh. 

“Perhaps you’d be better off with a different partner,” Damian sniffed, glancing out the screen door. Outside, raindrops rippled circles against the smooth surface of the filled brick pond. “One who is actually competent.”

Grayson didn’t seem in the mood to indulge him, so Damian moved on.

“Where’s Father?” He asked. Grayson rubbed his good eye blearily.

“Bruce left for WE this morning. He took Tim with him. Some stock issue that I don’t really understand.”

There was a hint of frustration to his tone. 

“Did he not wait for me?” Damian frowned. His father had been promising to take him to WE for some time. Though Damian wasn’t too interested in the workings of the business, he admittedly felt a bit slighted that he reliably took Drake with him, occasionally returning with a proud glimmer in his eyes.

Grayson tilted his head at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?” Grayson asked. Damian bit into a slice of fruit.

“ _-Tt-_ Only from patrol. Father knows controlling my daytime affairs has no use.”

Grayson laughed, softening Damian’s shoulders. He thought of how harsh Grayson had sounded last night, words nearly rocking the walls. 

“Are you - are you busy today?” Damian asked uncomfortably, the words feeling thick and angular on his tongue. He sunk his teeth into another slice of orange, the fruit harboring no acidity and instead sitting syrupy in his mouth. “This fruit is all rotten. A trip to the grocery would be suitable.”

Grayson shook his head sadly. “Sorry, Little D. I’m heading into town today.”

Damian furrowed his eyebrows. “What for?”

“I-” Grayson paused. “I got an errand to run.”

“You’re searching for Todd,” Damian stated. Grayson sighed. “I do not know what you two have gotten into this time,” Damian continued, “but even I know that giving in the day after is desperate.”

“Well, maybe I am desperate,” Grayson said tiredly. “Sorry, we woke you up last night, didn’t we?”

“ _-Tt-_ It’s bound to happen again unless you finally rid yourself of that needless baggage.” 

“Jason is not _needless baggage,_ Damian,” Grayson said, fingers tight around his mug. “You two don’t have to get along, but at least try to be respectful.”

Damian scoffed, feeling strangely offended at Grayson’s defence of Todd as well as embarrassingly upset. 

“I’ll respect him when he deserves it. Perhaps he can start by being a sufficient patrol partner,” Damian said pointedly. “Or, of course, you could make the wiser decision of finding someone competent.”

Grayson pushed his coffee mug into the center of the table, sighing as he eased out of the chair.

“Well, you’re still grounded, and for good reason,” he said, before ducking out the doorway. Damian heard the sound of keys, meaning he was already heading out. Scowling, he threw the rest of the fruit into the garbage bin.

***

Grayson was still gone by supper that night, his phone indicating he was at a shoddy pizza joint downtown, probably accompanied by Todd. That left the dining table with just his father and Drake, with even Pennyworth taking off for the evening. 

The silence was deafening.

Perhaps a bit childishly, Damian began chewing on his beans loudly, breaking for long slurps of his water. He continued until Drake looked up sullenly from his meal.

“Quit it,” he said, scowling. This only egged Damian to chew louder.

“Seriously, can you stop it?” Drake sniped, kicking out a leg from underneath the table. “What are you trying to gain from doing that anyway?”

“At the very least, your presence away from this dinner table. At best, your presence out of my house.”

Drake huffed, angrily spearing his vegetables and shoving him in his mouth. There was a moment’s pause before Damian started chewing again.

“Oh my god, Bruce, can you tell him to stop?” Drake exclaimed. Damian smirked.

“Oh, can’t even defend yourself without my father’s assistance? Embarrassing, Drake, though far from unexpected for you.”

“Embarrassing? The only embarrassing thing here is you acting like a little brat!”

Bruce slammed his hands down on the dinner table. Damian jumped, but recovered quickly, crossing his hands.

“Tim, be the bigger person here and don’t indulge him,” Bruce scolded, before turning to Damian. His eyes were like coals on fire. “Damian, if you want to get back on patrol, this is far from the way to earn it.” 

“This has nothing to do with patrol,” Damian argued, but Bruce shot him down with a stern look.

“If I hear another word out of you, I will extend your punishment another whole week.”

Damian made an indignant noise. “But-”

“No buts,” Bruce interrupted. “Now eat.”

Damian angrily stuffed a forkful of beans into his mouth, ignoring Tim’s glare from across the table. 

***

He was asleep when he heard it. Something whispery, like thin, fluttering insect wings that somehow woke him up from his dreamless sleep. Against his window, the rain pattered gently. The light beneath his door was gone, meaning at the very least his father was back, Drake probably with him. 

Hopping out of bed, Damian set his heart on a cool glass of water. He disliked the rough texture as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

He passed Grayson’s room and, like the night before, it was quiet, though this time deathly so, making Damian suspect he was still out and about. He made his way down the stairs and stepped carefully on the creaky floorboards into the kitchen, where lights from the appliances cast willowy shadows on the red walls. The refrigerator hummed as though a living force.

He had just filled a glass up with tap when he heard that same whispery flutter, this time a bit closer and more discernable, especially in his conscious state. He turned around without ever taking a sip and was met with the hall.

The gaping doorway seemed to suck the room dry, drawing something deep within Damian closer and closer. Glass on the counter forgotten, he let his feet carry him into the hall, where the whispers seemed to gather up high in the shadows on the ceilings, tangled in with the cobwebs. He hardly realized what he was doing until he found himself before the same drawing room at the end of the hall, the door once again cracked open. The whispers were louder, but this time, they seemed right in front of him, within the darkness of the room.

The door eased open with a slow, quiet whine, revealing the same set of furniture draped in white cloth. Damian flipped on the lights. The small door was cracked open. Almost positively, Damian knew the whispers were coming from behind it.

Kneeling down on the floor, Damian crawled towards it until he was close enough to smell the rot deep in the wall, and used a single finger to ease open the door…

The plaster was gone - in its place, a long, dark tunnel. It exhaled a cool breath across Damian’s face, carrying with it the smell of something slow and old.

Marveled, Damian peered in, but was unable to see the end, even with the light in the room. It looked just wide enough for him to fit through, possibly even Drake, Damian mused, if he tried. Glancing back one last time, Damian put his weight on all fours and began crawling. 

Whatever it was, the material wrapping the tunnel felt soft beneath his hands and feet - comfortable, insulating. It was quiet. Gradually, the tunnel grew darker the further away Damian crawled until he hit something solid and smelling thick of wood. Frowning, Damian gave it a light prod, which was enough to nudge it open.

It was… the same room as before. No, actually, not quite - the furniture: they were uncovered and dusted. It was a parlor, ready to entertain guests if need be.

Bewildered, Damian stepped out of the tunnel and onto the carpet. Beside him against the wall was the same ornate dresser, the beautiful carving of a woman on its door, though - Damian cocked his head - he thought the woman had been smiling. Instead, now she just stared ahead with the barest hint of dread, the kind of expression Damian has seen on multiple civilians the second they realize something was wrong.

_Bizarre,_ Damian thought. He reasoned, perhaps, that the passage somehow led into another drawing room - sensical, considering he suspected the passage to be some sort of old vent, though it was strange that his father or Pennyworth would elect to keep one drawing room wrapped up and another proudly displayed.

The lights were off, but the doorway to the room was cracked open much like the one Damian entered, even though he didn’t recall seeing any other rooms open. Curious, Damian peeked out to find the long stretch of the back hall, though, past the open doorway, was a block of warm, orange light on the carpet coming from the kitchen. Distantly, there was a whisper of a noise.

Cautiously, Damian crept closer and closer, ignoring the thumming energy that seemed to watch from the shadows and counting eight drawing room doors before he stepped out of the hall doorway and his toes lined the edge of the kitchen light. This close, he could make out a soft, lulling humming, so so familiar, accompanied with the click of metal against porcelain. Damian stepped into the light. 

It was just Grayson, wearing a loose t-shirt large enough to be Todd’s and a pair of plain jeans, sitting at the breakfast table with his back to Damian, stirring a cup of what smelled to be coffee. The small chandelier above the table was on, smothering a warm orange glow onto the furnishings and tiles. He was humming, so softly, so warmly, like how he did until Damian fell asleep on nights when the nightmares wouldn’t go away, except this tune was new, unfamiliar, though holding the same cadence as many of his other hymns. Reassured, Damian stepped into the kitchen, and immediately the humming and stirring ceased as Grayson slightly craned his head.

“Damian? Is that you?”

“Grayson,” Damian replied curtly, off put at being caught. It was strange that the man had already shed off his Nightwing suit, even though Damian hadn’t heard a shuffle from the other room all night. Perhaps he had just returned. No doubt the man would interrogate him as to what he was up to, unless Damian cornered him first. “I see you’re back from patrol, though what on Earth are you doing drinking coffee at this time of-”

Damian stopped, heels nearly skidding against the ground as Grayson turned fully around, arm draped lazily over the back of his chair. Damian spluttered, mouth going dry. Grayson smiled back as two round, black buttons glistened in place of his eyes. He cocked his head.

“Were you saying something?”


	3. Three

Damian shrunk back as the button-eyed look alike got out of his chair, leaving his coffee mug behind on the table. Facing him, Damian saw that the man’s skin was a bit paler than Grayson’s, corners a bit sharper, and shadow a bit taller.

“You’re not Grayson,” Damian stated, backing away as the doppelganger slinked closer. It walked like Grayson, all smooth and spidery, but there was a strange slyness to the slight hunch in his shoulders, as if he were prowling.

“No, of course not, Little D,” the man said, and Damian stiffened at the nickname. His voice sounded just like Grayson’s, if not a bit sweeter. Maybe too sweet, like rotting fruit. “That would be silly. I’m your _other_ brother.”

Damian blinked, unsure what that even meant. 

“First of all, Grayson is not my brother,” Damian said haughtily, hands itching instinctively for the knife block below the cup cabinet. He noticed they weren’t Alfred’s usual set, these ones ornately carved at the hilt. “Secondly, whoever - whatever you are, you are _not_ Grayson.”

The not-Grayson, the other Grayson, put a hand over his heart as if wounded. 

“Aw, Dami, don’t say that! Though, I know you don’t mean it.” The other Grayson’s eyes, though pupiless, seemed to fix on Damian’s twitching fingers. 

“Ah-” he clapped “-I know.”

Damian tensed as the other Grayson moved towards the knife block, only to open the cup cabinet and retrieve a tall stemmed glass, humming all the while. He bent down and held it out to Damian, who stared at it and his warbled reflection in the glass.

“Well, aren’t you thirsty?”

Damian was. It was why he’d gotten up in the first place. 

“No,” he lied, but Grayson only smiled at him knowingly and gave the empty cup a swirl. Damian’s eyes widened as the cup slowly filled with water. 

“H-how,” Damian mouthed, taking the glass without thinking about it. It was cool and heavy in his hands (a bit too heavy for him to be dreaming, the back of Damian’s head thought.) The other Grayson stretched back to his full height. “Is this real?” Damian asked, peering at his jumpy reflection in the water. 

“Have a taste,” the other Grayson said, plucking an red apron from the wall and sliding it over his head, arms moving to tie a knot behind his back. It was covered in black polka dots.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” Damian accused, arching an eyebrow. The other Grayson merely laughed at that.

“Now why would I do that?” he asked. Cautiously, Damian took a small sip from the glass. It tasted normal, if not better. 

“When you’re finished with that, I hope you don’t mind getting Jason? Just tell him breakfast is waiting” the other Grayson said, sliding a pan off the hook. “He’s upstairs. He should be up by now, but if he isn’t, don’t be afraid to give him a little pinch.”

The other Grayson flashed him a smile. Damian nodded slowly, backing out of the kitchen doorway. For a second, he considered breaking into a run for the drawing room, but he felt the other Grayson's eyes follow his back. There was a tenseness to the other Grayson's posture, as if he were ready to spring at the slightest provocation. Something about it also told Damian that the other Grayson could run really fast. Slowly, Damian walked down the corridor towards the living room, gazing around much like the first time he stepped in the manor - with trepidation and curiosity. 

The manor was dimly lit as it usually was during the evening. Old lamps cast warm orange light on dark wood furniture, smearing oily against the shiny hardwood floor. The grandfather clock ticked against the wall, the intricate face staring down watchfully. The only notable difference so far were the windows, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, and _open_ for once, revealing a sky full of stars, no rain in sight. 

Damian made his way up the stairs to the second floor. If the second floor was identical to the one in the real manor, then Damian’s room would be the one five doors down the hall. Grayson’s would be the second. Todd’s old room would be the third.

Todd’s room was a place Damian only ever got a few peeks in. It was mostly bare and neat, from what Damian remembered, and was only occasionally vacuumed when Alfred had the time. The only time Todd went in there was to retrieve a coppery smelling book or two from the dusty old shelf beside the window. In the rare times Todd slept over, he shared the full bed with Grayson in the older man's room. How they both fit was a mystery to Damian. 

Damian stopped before Grayson’s door, giving the wood two solid knocks. The door cracked open as if on command. 

Just like the other Grayson promised, the other Todd was already up, the bed neat against the wall. Unlike with Todd’s room, Damian had been in Grayson’s room plenty of times. Just as in his memory, a desk was pressed against the wall opposite the bed except clean and organized, unlike the paper covered mess Damian was used to seeing. A dresser sat right of a window overlooking the garden, a closet on the other side, and a Flying Graysons poster was taped above the bed. Damian couldn’t help but notice the button eyed acrobats. He held back a shudder.

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally up.”

The other Todd was seated in an armchair situated in the corner, reading a worn copy of _Crime and Punishment_ of all things. Like the other Grayson, there were black buttons over his eyes, and he was smiling - not the usual Jason Todd smirk, but a easy, gentle smile. The kind, perhaps, Jason Todd would be smiling all the time had he not died. It made Damian uncomfortable.

“The other Grayson told me to tell you breakfast is waiting,” Damian said, stepping further into the room and crossing his arms, feeling safer with his chest covered. His eyes grazed the room, catching an out of place bible on the nightstand. 

“Well, we can’t keep him waiting, can we?” the other Todd said, dog earring his book and easing up off the chair. He seemed to loom above Damian like a pillar, his posture unnaturally straight, or at least unnaturally straight for Todd. Damian swallowed and crossed his arms tighter, refusing to be intimated by Todd, no matter in what form.

“I suppose not,” he said curtly. The other Todd grinned, reaching a hand out to ruffle Damian’s hair. Damian ducked out of the way.

Downstairs, the food smelled lovely. 

“A plate for you, and a plate for you,” the other Grayson said, sliding a plate of pancakes before Damian. Sliced bananas made up the eyes, and blueberries the mouth. The other Grayson set a pitcher of water on the table, along with a bowl of fresh fruit. Damian eyed the bowl, filled with ripe oranges, smooth apples, pearly grapes, and long bananas. 

“Mm, this looks wonderful, _prettybird_ ,” the other Todd murmured, ducking down and placing a kiss on the other Grayson’s forehead. The other Grayson hummed happily and craned his head up to meet the other Todd’s lips. They kissed longer than the real Grayson and Todd had kissed in weeks. Damian looked away uncomfortably and prodded his pancake, wondering if it was edible. It looked too perfect, too toy like, and certainly not like anything Grayson could have ever created.

“Well, don’t be shy, eat up,” the other Grayson said, taking a seat beside Damian. The other Todd pulled out a seat on Damian’s other side. Damian took his knife and sliced off a wedge of the pancake, catching it in his mouth before the syrup oozed off. 

“Woah,” he said with an open mouth, but no one reprimanded him for it. “This isn’t bad.”

The other Grayson laughed. “Why would it be?”

Halfway through Damian’s pancake, the other Grayson nudged the fruit basket at him. “Here, try some. I just picked them up this morning.”

Damian wrinkled his forehead, carefully plucking a single grape from the basket, and plopping it in his mouth. Its taut skin ripped open beneath his teeth, oozing sweet, gently acidic juice onto his tongue. The other Grayson watched intently. 

“It’s… good,” Damian admitted after it felt the other Grayson would not stop staring. Indeed, this seemed to appease the other Grayson, who turned back to his pancake. He’d barely carved in a fourth, eating only a corner with a banana eye. 

“Red delicious, your favorite,” the other Todd said as he reached into the basket and plucked out a red apple. Damian watched awkwardly as Todd bit off a large piece and reached across the table, slipping it between the other Grayson’s lips. The other Grayson hummed happily as he chewed.

“Red delicious?” Damian repeated numbly. The other Todd turned to him, holding up the bitten apple.

“Of course, red delicious. You know it’s big bird’s favorite, and also his favorite color,” the other Todd said mischievously. 

“Oh, Jason, _please,_ ” the other Grayson said. Damian imagined him rolling his eyes. 

“Your favorite color is red?” Damian asked, surprised. He always thought Grayson liked blue the best. Why else would he color everything he owned in it?

“Of course, why else do you think he chases after all the redheads?” the other Todd joked. Damian watched as the two laughed fondly, eyes caught on each other. The other Grayson glanced at Damian, frowning at his silence.

"Something wrong, Little D?" he asked. Damian looked away. The other Grayson's voice was warm and comforting, but in a foreign way that reminded Damian of the 'nice' strangers that cooed over him at galas and in public. It was discomforting to hear it come from Grayson's face and made it harder and harder to treat the other Grayson like a stranger.

“I... thought you two were fighting,” Damian said quietly. The other Grayson and the other Todd glanced at each other before chuckling kindly.

“Fighting? Why would we be fighting?” The other Grayson asked, leaning towards Damian. “ _Here_ , Damian, we don’t fight. Fighting is a no-no in this house, hm?”

Damian frowned, fingers tightening over his silverware. He could see his reflection on the polished surface. “Here,” Damian said questioningly. The other Grayson nodded. 

“Yes, _here,_ where your other family live.”

“My other family,” Damian repeated flatly. 

“Of course,” the other Grayson said. “Everyone has an other family, and yours will be here, always.” 

There was something so expectant about the way those button eyes stared at him, but Damian didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he stabbed the last eye of his pancake and yawned. 

“Uh oh, someone’s tired,” the other Todd said. The other Grayson pushed out of his chair. 

“Here, I’ll tuck you in. You’ve had a long day.”

Damian glanced at the kitchen doorway, thinking of the small door and the white sheeted drawing room. He thought of Grayson and Todd - the real Grayson and Todd - asleep somewhere in the depths of Gotham, probably in one of Todd's dank safe houses on a bare mattress. He thought of Drake, possibly still awake and staring drearily at his laptop, face smeared in blue light. He thought of his father, breathing deep, slow breaths as he slept alone in his large, large bed. They all felt so far away. Damian felt his stomach curl at the thought.

“I should go,” Damian said. "You know, back-"

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get back,” the other Grayson said, resting a palm on Damian’s shoulder. “Just follow me.”

The other Todd bid Damian goodnight as he followed the other Grayson through the warm lit manor to the second floor and into his room. Everything looked the same, from his large desk beneath the window to the standing mirror in the corner of his room. Hesitantly, Damian crawled into his bed, the other Grayson sitting down on the edge. Damian turned away, shy at being so close. He smelled a little like wood, old wood. Grayson, at the end of the night, smelled like cheap deodorant and sweat.

“Would you like to hear a story?” the other Grayson asked. Damian shook his head, exhausted. The other Grayson looked a bit disappointed.

“Very well, you need sleep after all,” the other Grayson said, easing off the bed and hovering next to the light switch. The hall light cast a long, thin shadow of the other Grayson’s silhouette against the carpet. “Goodnight Damian,” he said softly. Damian felt his eyelids droop heavily. “We’ll see you soon.”


	4. Four

Damian awoke to the familiar textured ceiling above him and a sound like something was trickling. _Gutter water,_ Damian thought.

Feeling a bit dizzy and hungrier than usual, Damian rubbed his belly before rolling out of bed. He frowned at the knees of his pajamas, worn and covered in dust. 

Not dwelling on it, Damian headed down towards the kitchen, the rest of the house quiet as usual. The light in Drake’s room was on, and faintly, Damian thought he could make out soft piano music. It was Saturday, and Damian supposed he was catching up on homework.

Downstairs, Pennyworth’s hat and coat were absent from the coat rack, meaning Damian’s father had likely given him the day off. The windows in the main living room were foggy behind the shut blinds, and again, there was a faint must of earth in the air. From the kitchen, there was a quiet clicking - a spoon hitting a tea cup - and suddenly the events of last night came flooding back in.

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, Damian stared at Grayson’s figure sitting in the breakfast chair, stirring a cup of coffee, except this time he wasn’t humming, instead whispering softly with Todd, who was drumming his fingers against the table impatiently. They both turned at his footsteps, and Damian couldn’t help the sigh of relief as he met their blue eyes. 

“Oh, Damian, you’re awake,” Grayson said, glancing at the stove clock. “Slept in today, huh? Good dream?”

Damian didn’t say anything, instead filling himself a glass of water. It tasted stale and empty.

“What’s wrong? Did Demon wake on the wrong side of the bed again?”

“Jason,” Grayson sighed. He turned to smile at Damian as he sat down at the breakfast table. Damian’s eyes caught Todd’s bandaged arm, the wrapping peeking out from beneath his sleeves. 

“ _-Tt-_ still can’t handle patrol, Todd?” Damian egged. Todd scowled, pulling his arm closer to his chest. 

“Hey, Dick. Still haven’t taught this brat some manners?”

“Come on you two,” Dick said tiredly. “Enough with the fighting.”

Damian was suddenly reminded of his dream. _Fighting? Why would we be fighting? Here, Damian, we don’t fight. Fighting is a no-no in this house._

Damian took a long draw of water, and even Todd seemed surprised at his silence.

“Alright. Great,” Grayson said, taking advantage of the standstill. “Alfred’s out of the house today, and Bruce won’t be back till patrol, so Jason and I were thinking we could take you two out for lunch.”

“No, that’s incorrect. None of this was my idea,” Todd said. 

“And,” Grayson continued, shooting a look at Todd, “we could also pick up some fresh fruit. Groceries. Whatever we need. That sound good?”

Damian stared between the two of them, trying to imagine buttons over their eyes. But instead they stared back, eyes clear and a bit tired. Damian wished they would stop looking so tired. 

“Drake is going?” Damian asked. 

“Well, we aren’t just going to leave him here,” Grayson said. Damian frowned.

“Fine. I will tolerate it,” he said, and finished the last of his water.

***

Damian rode shotgun as Grayson drove, refusing to sit next to Drake in the back. That left Jason with him, scowling out his window. It took a good twenty minutes to enter the city and, finding the silence unbearable, Grayson turned the radio to NPR, filling the car with soft voices none of them quite listened to. Stiff air pushed through the vents, prickling Damian’s arm hair. The road was wet, the sky heavy and grey, but the rain had stopped for the afternoon.

Bored, Damian began humming - a tune that felt so familiar, yet he could not pinpoint. He felt Grayson glance his way.

“What are you humming there, Damian?” Grayson asked. The question was innocent enough, but Grayson’s fingers seemed to tighten over the steering wheel (though that could have been Damian’s imagination.)

“I… I don’t know,” Damian admitted. “I thought I might have heard it from you.”

Grayson was quiet, and Damian no longer felt comfortable humming. A fat raindrop fell from a tree branch above, splattering on their windshield. Damian watched it trickle in a slanted pattern down the glass, almost like a tear.

“Someone used to sing me that tune,” Grayson said after a while. Neither Todd nor Drake were paying attention - Todd lost in a daze and Drake plugged in to his earbuds. Even Grayson was staring steadily forward, as if no conversation were taking place. “Back when I was with the circus.”

“Your mother?” Damian deduced. Grayson was very fond of his mother in a way he wasn’t sure anyone of them could understand. Damian always imagined her with Grayson’s eyes and smile, heart face framed with pretty dark hair.

“No, not quite,” Grayson said, troubled but also confused, as though he just couldn’t quite figure something out. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “Or maybe I just imagined it. It was a long time ago.”

Perhaps it was, but Damian knew Grayson remembered nearly everything to a key from the circus.

They parked a block down from the pizza joint Grayson had picked, Grayson tossing Damian a few quarters to feed into the meter. High above, the Gotham skyscrapers seemed dangerously close to caving in and swallowing Damian into their reflective surfaces. In the distance, Wayne Enterprises glowed proudly in the grey cloud swollen sky, and Damian imagined his father in one of the conference rooms, glaring down at his table of associates. Damian stared, feeling for some reason that if he stared long enough, he’d see his father - but he knew that was impossible. His father was too far away.

“Great,” Damian heard Drake mutter as he slipped his earbuds into his pocket. Damian followed them inside, watching as Todd tried to catch Grayson’s hand in his own, only for the other man to step out of his reach.

The inside of the restaurant could only be described as tattered. A greying fan jilted in the corner, ruffling paper placemats and napkins as it sweeped its ark. The tables were chipped, plastic booths ripped and revealing yellow foam. Above, the lights were dim, allowing instead the pale afternoon light to wrap soft shadows over the furnishings.

“We’re not getting pineapple, are we?” Todd grumbled, only to receive a cold glare from Grayson. Drake rolled his eyes and slipped into a back booth as the two eldest went to order at the counter. Damian followed him begrudgingly, slumping into the seat opposite him. His foot accidently kicked Drake beneath the table, and their legs both hastily retreated.

“You could sit next to me, you know,” Drake said, raising his eyebrows. Damian scoffed.

“Why would I ever do that?”

Drake shrugged.

“You see how they’re acting. No one likes it when they’re like this. Unless someone forcibly pushes them together, they’ll never talk this out.”

“ _-Tt-_ Look at you, Drake, giving relationship advice when you can’t even get your wits together about that alien.”

Drake frowned, though his cheeks flared up. 

“Kon and I aren’t - _ugh_. What do you know, you’re ten years old,” Drake said snidely. 

“More than you,” Damian huffed. “Unlike you, I didn’t spend the first decade of my life moping away and stalking. Instead, I trained to take down half wits like you twenty different ways.”

“Oooh,” Drake mocked, wriggling his fingers. “Its too bad you can’t do anything with your ‘skills,’ since you’re _grounded.”_

Damian hissed. “Enough with this ridiculous grounding, already! It’s demeaning!”

“Perfect for a bratty child.” Drake crossed his arms. “You might even learn something from it.”

Damian slammed a fist into the table, causing Grayson to glance over from the counter in concern. And a bit of disappointment.

“Why can’t you just ever shut up?” Damian hissed beneath his breath. Drake stared him head on.

“Same to you.”

Before Damian could respond, a shadow fell over their table. Damian looked up to see Todd scowling down at them, before slipping into the seat next to him.

“What’s up losers? Guess who got sent here to watch your sorry asses.”

***

An hour later they were at the grocery store, Drake having long disappeared somewhere off on his own while Damian trailed after Todd and Grayson, who were browsing the selection of fresh produce. Around them, no one paid them mind. They were used to the Waynes frequenting here, with only a few patrons stopping to bid them a smile. Damian kicked at the greying salt and pepper tile, bored. 

“Get a couple of apples, yeah?” Grayson said. Todd complied, yanking a plastic bag off the roll and browsing the selection of apples aimlessly. Damian watched Todd’s hand wander over the granny smiths. Damian glanced back at Grayson picking vegetables before creeping closer to Todd.

“Todd,” he addressed. The older man glanced back at him warily.

“What do you want, tater tot,” he grumbled, tossing a granny smith into the bag. The color was bright but sickly beneath the jaundice lights.

“Do you - are you aware of Grayson’s preferred color?” Damian stammered out. Todd paused to give him a weird look before going back to plucking apples. 

“You alright in the head there? Dick’s not here, you can admit that lunch sucked. I wasn’t aware it was poisoned, though.”

Damian scowled.

“ _-Tt-_ just answer, dammit.”

“Okay, okay, jeez.” He plopped another apple in the bag. A brief flash of uncertainty flashed over his face. “Blue. It’s gotta be blue.”

“You mean you don’t know for sure?”

“We don’t exactly talk about this shit, you know,” Todd said defensively. “Besides, why else would he color everything in it?”

Damian circled the bin of red apples, his reflection a willowy shadow on their waxy surfaces. 

“It’s not… red?”

“Red?” Todd raised an eyebrow now, confused. “Where’d you get that idea?” 

“I don’t know,” Damian murmured, and picked a red apple to toss in the bag.

***

Bruce was home for dinner that night, which consisted of microwaved meals Pennyworth had prepared the night before. Despite his best efforts, not even Pennyworth could prevent the mushy texture of microwaved food. 

“Jason,” Bruce nodded gruffly upon entering. Damian realized his father probably hadn’t seen Todd since the beginning of the week, despite Todd’s recent loitering at the manor. In response, Todd simply grunted, returning to chewing the overcooked chunks of beef in his stew. 

“Did Gordon send the files from GCPD?” Drake asked, cutting his vegetables. Damian looked up curiously.

“Hm. This morning. The Callaway’s case is uploaded, and Gordon’s sending the rest tonight.”

“Callaway?” Damian asked. Bruce gave him a look. Grayson cleared his throat.

“Could we have one dinner where we don’t talk about work?” he said lightly.

“This isn’t _work,_ ” Bruce grunted. Grayson rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Is this a big case?” Damian tried again. Bruce sighed and set down his fork.

“That is none of your business, Damian. You are still grounded until the end of this week.”

“But if this is a big case, shouldn’t I be helping?” Damian said indignantly. He caught a three way glance between his brothers.

“Unless there is an emergency, your punishment will not be lifted,” Bruce said with finality. “Now finish your food.”

Damian sat up in his chair.

“Is this a serial case? Are the Callaway’s dead?”

“Dami,” Dick interrupted softly. Damian ignored him.

“How many more are there? Do we have any leads?”

“Damian,” Bruce warned, voice low. 

“I am sick of this ridiculous punishment!” Damian exclaimed. “If innocent lives are being lost, this punishment serves more harm than good!”

“You were too hard on Lloyd and Stalworth last week and you know it.”

For a second, Damian was surprised Bruce remembered their names.

“They deserved what was coming, choosing to lead their life in such a perverse and cowardly way. Did you see those children in the warehouse? I was doing them a favor!”

“Damian!” Bruce growled, slamming his hands onto the dining table, rumbling the silverware. He was standing now, eyebrows arched nearly as high as the ones carved into his cowl. Everyone had stilled. 

“You do not talk back to me with that tone,” Bruce said, pointing his finger. “You are to respect my decisions because I am your father. Now go to your room before I add another day to your punishment.”

Damian squawked, feeling both slighted and embarrassed. “But I-”

“Damian, _now._ ”

“Whatever,” Damian huffed, harshly pushing out his chair and stomping out of the room. He felt eyes follow his back, and so he crossed his arms over his chest, curling his shoulders in. The dining room was silent behind him.

It was around ten pm that there was a knock on his door before Grayson gently pushed in.

“Dami?” Grayson said softly. “Mind if I come in?”

“Haven’t you already?” Damian grumbled, not bothering to turn over. He was lying on his bed in the dark, thought caught in Bruce’s words. Grayson closed the door behind him, sinking down on the edge of Damian’s bed, not quite touching him but close enough that Damian could feel his warmth and smell the detergent in his clothes.

“You want to talk about it?” Grayson asked. 

“Talk about what?”

Grayson sighed. “So it’s gonna be like that, huh?” A pause. “You know he only wants the best for you.”

Damian sniffed. “I don’t care what’s best for me. I care what’s best for the city.”

“Isn’t that a bit big of a responsibility for a ten year old boy?” Grayson teased, leaning over Damian. The bruise on his right eye was fading, the swelling also coming down. In the dark, with only the hall light from under the door, there was a worn shadow to Grayson’s face, revealing to Damian all the small cuts and ridges, the crinkles around his eyes which, Damian wondered if, would one day carve themselves permanently into wrinkles.

Damian looked away. Usually, when he thought of his supposed family, he felt nothing towards them, save for a lingering resentment now and then. But, once in a while, he’d feel this sudden overwhelming swell of _feeling_ in his chest - rushing like adrenaline, warm but melancholy - that he didn’t know what else to do with but push away. 

What had just transpired Grayson didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he began humming, low and sweet, and Damian recognized it as the tune from the car. Grayson began carding his fingers through his hair, dully raking his fingernails over Damian’s scalp. Damian felt shivers down his spine, and saw in the dark the flash of button eyes. 

“We haven’t had much one on one time recently, have we?” Grayson asked. Damian pulled his covers closer to his chest.

“No,” Damian said smally. 

“Sorry, Little D. I promise I’ll make it up to you. This Callaway case is just driving me nuts.” Grayson sighed tiredly. “How about tomorrow night? I’ll head out to patrol a bit later, and we’ll have a couple of hours just to ourselves. We could watch a movie, or play a game?”

For some reason, the thoughts of movies and games made him sad right then.

“Just let me sleep,” Damian said, pulling away. In the standing mirror in the corner, Damian watched Grayson falter. His hand was paused mid-air. He set it down on his own lap. 

“Alright. I’ll leave you to it,” Grayson said, easing off the bed. He paused again at the door, as if wanting to say something, but instead just sighed and closed the door behind him.


	5. Five

It was there again, that whisper.

The clock read 2:30 when Damian opened his eyes. The slats of his window blinds were still dark, the hallway light still on. Rain tapped gently against the window. _Tap tap tap_. Damian’s stomach growled. He was hungry.

Slipping out of bed, Damian gently eased open his door to find the hall empty and, with a peek down the bannister, the living room empty. There was a slight jingle.

“Titus,” Damian whispered, allowing himself a smile as the Great Dane bounded towards him, tongue hanging happily. “No one’s home, huh?”

The great dane wagged its tail before turning around and ambling down the stairs. Damian followed suit.

Together, they ventured into the kitchen, Damian prodding through the fridge for leftovers. All he found were raw ingredients that he knew nothing to do with. They looked boring and unappealing under the frail white light. 

“Ugh, why would Father send me to bed without dinner?” Damian asked Titus, who stared back happily. Damian pat his head. “I’d never do that to you.”

It was then that Titus lifted his nose to the air, sniffing. Damian cocked his head. 

“You sense something, Titus?” Damian asked, before smelling it himself.

It was faint, almost nonexistent, but immiscible. Warm, rich, savory…

Titus barked, making a circle before dashing out of the kitchen. 

“Titus, what are you doing?” Damian demanded. He ran after the dog, even as it bounded onto the carpeted dark hall. Damian slowed as he realized where the dog was going, and sure enough, Titus reached the eighth door down the hall, nose nudging the ajar drawing room door.

“What on Earth,” Damian whispered, catching up to the dog and pushing the door open. Again, he flipped on the lights to find the room just how he left it, except now, instead of the musty old odor, the air was filled with the smell of warm food - stews, spices, chocolate… 

Titus pawed at the small door, whimpering. Damian pushed the dog away, grunting as he pulled the door back open with both hands. His eyes widened as he fell back on his bottom, his face hit with the heat and smell of a open oven baking bread. The tunnel beckoned him.

“It’s really real, Titus,” Damian whispered. “How could this be?”

The dog simply whimpered, trying to fit inside the hole before Damian pulled him away. 

“Don’t be silly, you don’t fit. Now sit here and keep watch. I’m going in.”

Titus obediently sat back on his haunches, watching as Damian lowered himself into the tunnel, the familiar felt like surface soft against the heel of his hands. Titus whimpered again.

“Stay,” Damian instructed, and crawled until the light of the drawing room once again faded, along with Titus’ whimpering. This time he stopped before bumping into the other door, fingers reaching out to push it open. 

He was greeted with the other drawing room, furniture displayed proudly. The door was ajar, wider this time, and Damian followed the smell of food down the hall, his stomach rumbling. As he got closer, he thought he heard quiet chatter, as well as the bang of pots and pans. The kitchen light was on, and Damian walked in to see the familiar butler working at the stove, whipping something in a large, steel bowl. A pan simmered on the cooktop, releasing the smell of caramel. It bubbled.

“Pennyworth,” Damian greeted tentatively, holding back a shudder when Pennyworth turned around, displaying large, matte buttons evening out his long, drooping face - perhaps longer than Damian remembered it.

“Ah, Master Damian. You’re just in time for dinner,” Pennyworth - the other Pennyworth - said dutifully.

“Dinner?” Damian asked. Before the other Pennyworth could respond, warm arms wrapped around his torso from behind. They felt like claws, and fear seized his chest.

“Ah!”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Damian turned around to face the other Grayson. He pawed the man’s hands off him, annoyed and embarrassed, but the other Grayson only smiled back, unperturbed. 

“I hope you brought your appetite, cause Alfred here has prepared quite the meal.” The other Grayson took his hand, and Damian followed hesitantly, letting his heels dig lightly into the ground.

“There’s an other Pennyworth?” Damian asked, looking back. The other Pennyworth stood alone in the kitchen now, staring dully at the boiling pot, doing nothing. Damian thought it was going to overflow. The other Grayson hummed, tugging his wrist a bit too tightly. Damian realized they were heading towards the dining room.

“Of course there is. Now hush, lets not keep them waiting.”

“Them. There’s more.” Damian arched an eyebrow. 

The other Grayson merely smiled secretively and pushed open the heavy dining room doors. Damian gaped.

The often barren dining table, the one he’d just sat at that night, was covered in dishes of all shapes and sizes, the silver platters gleaming beneath the dense chandelier light. Rich stews bubbled in thick porcelain bowls, soft chunks of carrots and potatoes bobbing in the caramel colored broth. Grapes, honeydew, and cantaloupe tumbled off one another before a tray of cubed cheese. Standing like towers amidst the tumeric rice and creamy mashed potatoes were slender dispensers filled with bright, opaque drinks, possibly smoothies or milkshakes.

Todd, Drake, Cain, Brown, and his father sat around the dining table, plates empty, staring at him with round, button eyes. They were smiling.

“Don’t just stare, take a seat!” The other Grayson said, situating himself beside the other Todd at the table. That left only one seat open, the one beside Drake - the other Drake. 

He sat down with a nod at Cain and Brown. Back home, Brown was in her own apartment, Cain off on a solo mission, but here, they were seated side by side. It was nice, Damian supposed. At the very least, it made the dining room feel less small and less cold.

“Well, it seems they have one of you too,” Damian said to the other Drake dismissively. He raised an eyebrow when the other Drake merely smiled close mouthed back.

“Alright, let’s eat!” the other Grayson declared. 

The other family dug in, reaching excitedly for spoons and ladles, asking one another to pass salt shakers and butter cubes. Undeniably hungry, Damian found himself piling his plate up high, tarts stacked on top of buns and his potatoes running into his rice. Damian felt a prod against his shoulder, and was met with a meek looking Other Drake.

“What do you want?” Damian glowered. The other Drake pointed to the casserole. Damian raised an eyebrow, fetching the glass tray.

“You can’t talk?” Damian inquired. The other Drake shook his head. 

“Good riddance,” Damian said.

As the dinner went on, Damian’s father - his other father - remained largely quiet, occasionally huffing a laugh that had Damian widening his eyes in surprise. There was a lightness to his laugh, and Damian wondered if his real father had ever laughed like that. Maybe a long time ago, when Grayson was still little.

“Stocks are up again. I could use your help sometime,” he told Damian, eyes glistening, as if winking.

“Isn’t Drake handling that nonsense?” Damian asked, ignoring the warmth in his chest. His other father hardly spared the other Drake a glance before replying (in fact, Damian noted, hardly any of them looked at the other Drake much less addressed him. It made Damian feel smug but also a bit sad - not sad because he liked Drake, but because it seemed a bit unfair.)

“Well, it’s about time you learned the ropes. It’s a _family_ business after all.”

The family shared a laugh. Cass turned to him.

“Say, Damian, you up to spar tonight?”

Damian gaped at her.

“Chew with your mouth closed,” his other father rumbled gently, and Damian snapped his jaw shut.

“You can talk!” Damian exclaimed. Though her mouth had been moving all evening, Damian had assumed she was only chewing or giving her usual two word answers. The other Cain chuckled. 

“Of course I can, why wouldn’t I be able to?”

Damian spluttered for words. “But the other Cain-”

“I’m the other Cain.”

“I mean the _real_ Cain, she can’t talk.”

The family chuckled, as if all sharing an inside joke - except for the other Drake, who was quiet beside him. His plate was still piled high, as if he hadn’t taken a bite.

“Your real sister can’t, but I can,” the other Cain said. Her smile was broad, as if something were pulling at the edges of her lips.

“Why is that?” Damian narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like the way the other Cain spoke of the real Cain.

“Because she’s your other sister, your _better_ sister,” the other Brown said. She had purple buttons in her eyes, and she smiled the same way. Just looking at her hurt Damian’s own mouth. 

“Cain is not my sister,” Damian grounded. 

“But I am,” the other Cain said.

The other Pennyworth came into the room, gradually clearing out dishes and replacing them with deserts. Damian’s eyes widened at the tufts of meringue on tall pies and the macarons studded in like buttons along the side of tiered cakes. In the center of it all was a fountain, pouring thick, dark caramel before a tray of popcorn balls and skewered fruit. The family watched as the other Pennyworth cut a slice into the tiered cake, revealing spongey confetti with thick cream between the layers. He set it before Damian, sticking in a singular candle, which flickered to life on its own. Each of his other family members stared at him expectantly, the candlelight cutting long shadows beneath their eyes and making their buttons gleam. Despite the dinner they just ate, they looked hungry.

“What’s going on?” Damian asked skeptically. Across the table, between the fountain and the cake, the other Todd wrapped his arm around the other Grayson, who leaned in closer. 

“We really enjoyed your company tonight, Damian,” the other Grayson said. “And I hope you enjoyed us too.” 

“The food was nice,” Damian mumbled, feeling a bit shy underneath all the unblinking stares. His eyes briefly caught the other Todd’s hand trying to cover the other Grayson’s within the shadows of the table, but the other Grayson yanked his away, smile unflinching.

“You know, it could be like this every night, if you stay with us.”

Damian’s head darted back and forth around the table. Everyone was still smiling except for the other Drake. He looked unhappy.

“... Stay?” Damian repeated. The world felt lumpy in his mouth. The other Grayson nodded. 

“Yes! You know, we’ve been waiting a long time for you to arrive.”

“You’ve been waiting-” Damian pointed at himself “-for me.” Heads bobbed around the table. They looked like toys.

“In case you haven’t noticed, kid, you complete the picture,” the other Todd said. 

“Your family,” his other father affirmed. Damian felt a strange rise of warmth in his chest at his father’s low voice, but then felt his own hands rise to touch his cheeks. His face was hot but his hands were cold.

“But what about the, uh, the b-b-”

“Buttons?” the other Grayson filled in, tapping his right button with the tip of his index finger. It clicked with a dull, plastic sound. “Is that what you’re worried about? Don’t worry, Little D, you won’t feel a thing.”

“It’ll be over before you know it,” the other Todd said.

“Alfred here is an expert,” Bruce added. Damian suddenly remembered the other butler, standing in the corner of the room utterly silent and slack, as if he’d been shut down, or were a marionnette hung up.

Damian began scooting out his chair, hands sweaty.

“Right now?” he croaked, mouth dry. The other Grayson glanced at the other Todd.

“Not right now, if you don’t want to,” the other Grayson said. “It’s just something to think about.”

“Food for thought,” the other Todd said. 

“Let it percolate,” the other Father added. 

“I think I need to go,” Damian said, skittering off his chair. He thought he saw a flash in the other Grayson’s eyes, but it could have been the reflection off the candlelight.

“Of course, of course, you must be exhausted. It’s bed time after all,” the other Grayson said, getting out of his seat. “Why don’t I tuck you in?”

Damian let the other Grayson guide him upstairs, the family waving and calling goodnights behind him. “We can spar some other time, right Damian?” the other Cain chimed after him. As soon as they turned the corner, the sounds disappeared as if a vacuum suddenly sucked them up. Damian itched to turn around and peek one last time in the dining room. He wondered if they were still there, and where all the uneaten food went. How had the other Pennyworth been able to cook so much? And where did they go after dinner? To bed? Did they need to sleep?

As soon as the other Grayson opened the door, Damian lept for the bed, feeling safer beneath his covers despite the heavy summer warmth. He’d sweat it out if he had to. The other Grayson knelt down at the side of his bed, the open door behind him casting a cool shadow over Damian. Against the wall, the other Grayson’s fingers looked like thin claws as they reached over to card through his hair. Damian shifted. The other Grayson’s nails felt a bit sharp.

“How about tonight? Is tonight a good night for a story?” the other Grayson asked. Damian just wanted to be alone.

“I’m tired,” Damian said. “I don’t think I can stay awake.”

The other Grayson didn’t say anything, but Damian felt that he was disappointed again, and maybe a tiny bit angry. Or upset. It was hard to tell. He couldn’t decide whether to gauge the other Grayson’s expressions the same way he did the real Grayson’s. It felt like cheating if he did.

“Next time, then,” the other Grayson said, but Damian wasn’t sure if he wanted there to be a next time.

The other Grayson began humming, his fingers still combing through Damian’s hair. Gradually, the tune lulled Damian to sleep, his world beginning to drift and spin. Right before he closed his eyes, he spared a glance at the mirror in the corner of his room, but saw nothing but an empty bed.


	6. Six

Damian awoke the next morning to hushed arguing. He sat upright in bed, gazing around, looking for anything out of place in his room, but everything was as it was. He stared at himself in the corner mirror, noticing the bags beneath his eyes. He felt very hungry, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered Pennyworth uttering an old wives tale that if you ate too late at night, you’d feel very hungry in the morning.

Quietly, Damian creeped into the hall, clutching the wooden slats of the bannister as he peered over the staircase landing.

“Look, old man. I had nothing to do with this. Why would I? You really still think I don’t care?”

It sounded like Todd, but with less of his usual anger and with an added thickness to his voice.

“That’s not what this is about, Jason. I’m just gathering information much like you are. He was supposed to be with you last night. You’re the natural place to start.”

Todd gave a flustered sigh. There was a pause.

“Look, we’ve sort of hit a rough patch, okay?” Todd said. “When he didn’t meet up with me last night… I just sort of assumed he tagged along with you or went off on his own or something.”

“You’re supposed to tell me these things, Jason.”

“Well you don’t make it easy, alright?”

At the hat wrack, Pennyworth’s hat and coat were still gone. Did Damian’s father give him two days off? Damian didn’t want microwaved food again.

“Are none of his trackers working?” Drake asked timidly, his tiny voice making Damian roll his eyes.

“I checked. The one in his suit and boots are offline, but his chip…” Bruce paused. Damian held his breath.

“For Chrissake, spit it out old man.”

Bruce sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “According to the software, it’s right here, either in the manor or in the cave.”

Silence.

“You don’t think he cut it out, do you?” Drake asked. “He hasn’t been working on any cases we don’t know of, there’s no reason for him to do that.”

“Has he been up to anything, Jason?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Just those Callaway murders.” Todd sounded tired. “Again, we haven’t been on the best terms. You know just as much as I do.”

“When did you see him last?” Drake asked. 

“Last night, after dinner, before he went up to Damian’s room.”

Damian stiffened. 

“Did he not go to bed with you? After patrol?”

“... he’s been sleeping in his own room.”

There was a sigh, but Damian couldn’t tell whose it was. His heart was beating fast in his chest. He calmed himself down by reasoning that Grayson had disappeared several times before, usually due to small time goons who got a lucky strike (though, on a deeper level, Damian knew from the strain in his father’s voice that that was unlikely the case. If it was, there would have been more evidence.)

“Alright,” Bruce said heavily. “Tim, you go check the cave one more time, see if his uniform is anywhere. Jason, search his room. I’ll go check on Damian.”

Upon hearing his name, Damian scrambled off the floor and back into his room, easing the door shut behind him and flopping back under the covers. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. His heartbeat thudded wetly in his ears. _Grayson is missing._

A few seconds later, heavy footsteps slowly eased up the stairs before his door creaked open. There was a pause as his father hesitated in the doorway, before sitting down at the edge of Damian’s bed. Damian pretended to stir.

“Father?” he asked, lacing his voice with the thickness of sleep. Bruce gazed down at him almost kindly, and Damian childishly wished this happened more often. “Father, is something wrong?”

Bruce stared at Damian, eyes holding a quiet sadness, perhaps regret, and face worn and ruddy. He was still in his uniform. Normally Damian would complain about the cape touching his bed, but he couldn’t shake the nerves stirring in his belly. He thought of the fluttering sound he heard days ago, and imagined those insect wings beating in his stomach.

“Damian, did Dick come into your room last night?” Bruce asked. Damian nodded. 

“After dinner.” That felt like a lifetime ago. “He didn’t say much. He left before I fell asleep.”

“Did he say if he was… going somewhere?”

Damian shook his head. 

“Father, what’s going on?”

Bruce hesitated.

“Dick… Dick didn’t come home last night. In fact, we don’t know if he ever left.”

Damian felt his stomach curl and his heart drop. For some reason, silver platters and gleaming, black buttons flashed in his mind, along with the feeling of fingers running through his hair (why had he let the other Grayson touch his hair? Had Damian, trained by Talia al Ghul herself, been _afraid_ to say no?) Perhaps Damian was only thinking of all that because he felt guilty. He’d been enjoying himself all night while Grayson foolishly stumbled into trouble alone.

“What do you mean?” Damian asked. Bruce didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Grayson is okay, right? It’s likely just one of Penguin’s goons? I mean, he’s disappeared before and turned out fine.”

“We don’t know. He was supposed to patrol with Jason last night, but never showed. The only lead we have is his tracking chip, which the batcomputer indicates is on Wayne property. The only explanation is that either he or someone else carved it out.” Bruce sighed heavily. Damian always felt like his father’s sighs shook the world just a little bit. “This could be severe, Damian. Whoever it is could know our identities and have the ability to break past our security. You were the only one here the entire night last night. Did you see or hear anything out of place?”

Damian saw a lot, or at least he thought he saw a lot. The memory of last night felt fuzzy, like a dream, yet he could pick out each and every dish in his memory if he concentrated. There were smells. Damian didn’t usually smell in dreams.

“No, I didn’t,” Damian said. Guilt gnawed in his gut.

“Nothing at all?” Bruce inquired.

Damian shook his head. “Nothing.”

***

Todd disappeared before lunch. Before, he looked uncomfortable shifting around the kitchen as Bruce and Drake went over information at the table. As soon as the meeting concluded, Todd ducked down into the batcave. At the breakfast table trying to stomach down some toast, Damian thought he heard a distant motorcycle. Usually the house was too big and the walls too thick for Damian to hear vehicles leaving, so he must have imagined it. 

With Grayson gone and Pennyworth off, Damian had no choice but to follow Drake and his father to work. The drive down to the city had been quiet and uncomfortable, too uncomfortable for Drake to even complain when Damian rolled down his window, letting in the muggy air. The rain accumulated over the week had left the city dark and drooping, and Damian was beginning to forget what it looked like regularly. 

The air inside Wayne Enterprises was cold and bitter from perfumes and colognes. The shiny tiles clicked beneath Damian’s red sneakers, which looked out of place in the ivory and obsidian layout. Even Drake had pulled out a polished pair of shoes, which Damian had sneered at. They rode the smooth elevator up towards the top floors, the elevator stopping multiple times with crisp suits bidding them good morning.

The floor of Bruce’s office was lined with glass conference rooms and his office at the very end, large and spacious. Rich blue carpet covered the floor, and opaque glass and thin blinds were as far as privacy went - not that it was necessary - almost everyone was glued to their desks, eyes entranced by the mechanic blue light of their computer screens. There were a few fluorescent lights above, but they were dim, leaving most of the room to be filled with gloomy, foggy grey light. Soft shadows hovered in corners, making the floor seem impossibly large.

Bruce left Damian in his office, leaving with Tim on some meeting on the recent change in stock prices. There wasn’t much in his father’s office. His desk was large and grand, smelling a bit of paint fumes and rich oak. His leather seat was cold beneath Damian’s skin. Behind him was a long wall of glass overlooking the wet streets below and a few skyscrapers across the street. The people were nearly invisible beneath him, the cars like toys as they slowly tread through traffic. It was as though Damian could reach out and pluck them from the street. 

“What a useless day,” Damian said to the single photograph in the corner of his father’s desk. It was very small on the desk, framed only behind a sheet of glass. It was a picture of them over winter holiday, seated in the main living room. In it, he was being hugged by Grayson and scowling. For a moment, Damian regretted scowling, feeling very foolish. 

Damian explored the office, which had little to offer despite its grand space. There was a mantle on the wall which had a few knick knacks, like a Newton’s cradle which he got bored of quickly, and a snowglobe which he shook once and set back. He stared at the people outside the office, who ignored him from their small glass cubicles. He lept back and forth between the two leather couches between the mantle, leaving chalky footprints from his shoes. Still no one looked at him. A clock ticked annoyingly somewhere, but Damian could not find it. With the sky so grey outside, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed, and Damian was growing hungry. 

He ditched the office, wandering around in the halls for someone who looked like an assistant. The halls were quiet and cold, as if the air had frozen all the sound. He finally stumbled across a nervous looking intern, who gazed down at him warily.

“Are you lost?” the intern asked. Then her eyes boggled. “You’re a Wayne kid!”

Damian refrained from rolling his eyes. “-Tt- I request a dollar.”

The intern looked unsure. “Uh, can’t you ask your dad?” she asked. Damian crossed his arms.

“He is very busy, and I am hungry,” Damian said. He also didn’t know where his father could possibly be. The intern sighed and untucked a wallet from her pocket. She rifled out a grubby looking one and handed it to Damian. Damian nodded at her.

“Good day,” he said, and left.

Damian wasn’t sure where he could fine a candy machine, but figured it would be on one of the lower floors, where there were more employees. He randomly pushed a button, watching the circle light a muted orange. Only one woman came in on his way down, and she ignored him. Her shoes were so shiny Damian could see his reflection in them.

The doors opened up to the twenty-fifth floor, revealing a floor of cubicles and conference rooms. Damian found a lounge with a small glass window overlooking the cubicles. The small room smelled like coffee, and a coffee machine sputtered in the corner. Two vending machines sat next to each other against the wall, one for drinks and one for food. Damian stared into the glass and past his ghostly reflection at the lines of slanted candy bars and puffed up chip bags. Despite the time he has spent in Gotham now, Damian still wasn’t accustomed to the bright candy bars and couldn’t quite remember which one tasted like which. He recalled Grayson buying him something in brown wrapping once that he liked, but it felt like everything was in brown wrapping. Number 43 looked familiar. Damian fed his dollar into the machine.

A shadow fell over him behind him.

“You’ll need more than a dollar,” Drake said, digging a quarter out of his pocket and sliding it into the slot. Then he pushed number 45. Damian scowled, but bent down to pick up the candybar once it fell. 

“What are you doing here, Drake.”

Drake looked annoyed, but too tired to refute. This aggravated Damian further.

“B wants me to take you to lunch,” Drake said.

“I can get lunch myself,” Damian stated. Drake raised an eyebrow. Damian looked down at the candybar in his hand and stuffed it in his pocket. “This is just a snack,” Damian insisted. 

“Sure,” Drake said, heading out of the room. “Either way, I’m going to get lunch. Join me if you want to.”

Damian followed Drake down to a quiet mall nearby, and stood behind him in line as Drake ordered submarine sandwiches and cheese drenched fries. He spared Damian a glance before adding on a lemonade. As Drake waited, Damian went off to pump two cups of ketchup. Together, they settled on a secluded table bar in the back. 

“How is this cheese?” Damian wrinkled his nose at the mustard yellow sauce, quickly congealing in the cooler air. Drake shoved a sandwich before him and stuck two straws in the large lemonade. 

“It’s yellow. It’s cheese,” Drake said plainly. It sounded like handed down logic from the likes of Grayson or Todd. 

“Hm,” Damian grunted and nibbled at his sandwich. Even though he was hungry, the food sat sourly in his stomach and felt foreign in his mouth. He took a long drag of lemonade. Drake slid over the tray of fries. 

“Try it. You might like it.”

“Doubt it.”

Drake shrugged, snagging a half covered fry from the pile as though he were playing jenga. 

“Suit yourself.”

That night the three of them showed up separately at the dining room only to realize there was no food. 

“I must have given Alfred the night off,” Bruce said absently, looking dumbly around the dining room as though if he looked hard enough, he might find the butler. Drake just looked slightly annoyed.

“Is Jason here? He cooks,” Drake said. Bruce shook his head. 

“No, I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

Damian went ducking through the cupboards, but only found granola bars and cereal. He crossed his arms, thinking of the full table of food the other Pennyworth had bequeathed before him. His stomach rumbled. 

“We can always get pizza,” Drake said. Bruce shrugged. 

“Why not.”

Forty-five minutes later, two cheese pizzas arrived at their door. Drake tossed a wad of cash into Damian’s hands. 

“Don’t forget to tip him,” Drake said. Damian opened the front door to find a teenager with the red kind of sheen of a face over scrubbed. The teen looked down at Damian unsurely. Why were people always looking at him like that? Except Grayson, though that didn’t matter. Grayson was missing. Damian thrust the cash into the teenager’s hands and took the pizzas without saying a word. He plopped them down on the empty kitchen table and took a slice, taking it with him upstairs. He ate and read until it turned late evening and Bruce left. The sky outside was dark, rumbling with a bit of thunder. It was going to be a soggy night for his father. 

Damian peeked out into the hall. Drake’s room was dark, meaning he was probably down in the batcave. Even though he was sure Drake wouldn’t be able to hear him, Damian still tiptoed as he crept downstairs, clutching his sketchbook to his chest. The kitchen was dark, smelling muggily of pizza, with the now two empty pizza boxes lying oil stained on the table. Damian considered folding them up, but headed past the kitchen. He didn’t want Drake or his father to be suspicious, and they were the kind to be suspicious enough about cleaned up pizza boxes. He did, however, find his candy bar from earlier on one of the counters, and tucked it into the pocket of his pajama bottoms. He could use a snack later. 

The small door was slightly open when Damian got there, which he supposed made sense, since he never closed it when he entered. With one hand hugging the sketchbook, Damian began crawling, and crawled until he could no longer hear the thunder.


	7. Seven

The other world was quiet that night. The kitchen light was on, but the room was empty. It was as if everyone had simply never existed. Damian opened the pantry, hoping to find a snack, but the closet was empty. When he checked, the fridge was too. He wandered into the living room, finding it also lit but empty. The windows facing the garden were open, and Damian noticed something new. There were lights outside. 

Damian went through the back kitchen door to the balcony overlooking the garden, finding the air fresh and light. The usually barren garden (not even Pennyworth had the time of day to tackle that monstrosity) was lit with lazy fireflies and strings of small, fairy lights. Grey, empty flower beds were now blossoming with red, purple, and blue flowers with heavy bulbs that caused the stems to bend. Vines climbed their way up white painted posts, dotted with feathery looking white and pink blossoms. Weeds were no longer crawling over the cobblestone path, and lotus blossoms bobbed on the small stone bond beneath the bridge. There were no thunder clouds in sight, the sky clear and revealing a star studded darkness. Damian went down the stairs. 

Insects chirped quietly as Damian passed by. He brushed his fingers against the bed of flowers, which seemed to reach up to meet his touch. He crossed the bridge, which didn’t creak ominously beneath his weight, and looked down to see ancient koi bob their heads above water in greeting. 

On the other side of the bridge was a bench, a bench that existed back at the real manor as well, and inexplicably turned away from the garden and instead overlooking the dark patch of woods in the distance. There was a figure seated at the bench.

“Drake?” Damian asked curiously. Sure enough, the other Drake turned around, lips pulling up into a silent smile. Damian crept closer, taking a seat a good distance away from the other Drake. The other Drake looked paler than before, but perhaps that could have been the lighting. Damian squinted at the dark woods the other Drake was staring at. He had no idea what he was looking for. 

“Where are the others?” Damian asked. The other Drake put two hands together and rest them beneath the side of his head. Damian thought he looked silly. 

“Sleeping?” Damian asked. Now that he thought about it, the other world was always dark, though it didn’t seem that it was always night. He had no idea how time ran here, or if there was time at all. How did the other Grayson decide what meal they were to eat?

The other Drake shrugged as if to say _sure._ Damian frowned. Trained as an al Ghul and living as a Wayne, Damian felt that he had a pretty good grasp of reading whether people were simply quiet or absent. He could always tell whether Grayson’s room down the hall was empty or quiet. Tonight, the other manor felt empty, not quiet. 

Damian shook his head. Perhaps he simply didn’t have a good reading on the other world. 

Damian sat backwards in the bench, sitting criss cross and resting his sketchbook on the back of the bench as he sketched the garden. The other Drake had turned to his side, knees pulled up to his chest, and was watching. It unnerved Damian a bit at first - the other Drake didn’t blink, and it was hard to tell where his eyes were looking, not to mention Damian wasn’t used to Drake in any form taking any notice of his drawings - but soon Damian forgot, too engrossed in capturing the way the lotus flowers seemed to levitate on the pond, and the lazy droop of the heavy flowers that bent the delicate stems. It wasn’t until the other Drake swatted away a nearing firefly that Damian remembered he was there. 

“Can you draw?” Damian asked. The other Drake nodded. Damian raised his eyebrows, impressed. He handed the sketchbook over to the other Drake, who took it almost reverently. Damian watched as the other Drake thought for a moment before dipping pencil onto paper. Damian turned so his back leaned against the handrest of the bench and he was facing the other Drake.

“The other Drake can’t draw,” Damian said. The other Drake raised a confused eyebrow. Damian realized his mistake.

“I mean the other other Drake,” Damian said. “He has no taste for art.”

The other Drake said nothing and continued sketching out an outline. 

“You know, you’re much better to talk to,” Damian admitted. The other Drake smiled, but it was a sad kind of smile. It was the kind of smile nice people like Grayson smiled when they felt bad for you.

“The other Drake never listens,” Damian said. “Or, he doesn’t really. He’s always telling me to do this or do that. He always thinks he’s right, which, a lot of times he is, but that doesn’t mean he has to ignore me.”

The other Drake continued sketching. Damian didn’t mind the silence. It was nice, knowing the other Drake was listening. 

“I don’t get why he always has to be right. And it doesn’t help he thinks so much like Father. I feel like people always compare him to me, which isn’t fair. Maybe that’s why Todd is always annoyed at Grayson, but at least Grayson is nice about it. Drake just isn’t…”

Damian wasn’t sure what word he was looking for.

“Why can’t he help me instead of always trying to be better?” Damian finally ground out. The other Drake was looking at him now. There was a half formed sketch of a goggled figure on the sketchpad with long, claw like fingers. Damian thought the other Drake would have sketched the garden or something. 

“Why can’t you talk?” Damian asked curiously. He supposed the question might have been a bit rude, but Damian wasn’t used to offering Drake sympathy, and the other Drake simply looked too much like Drake that Damian forgot. The other Drake didn’t seem perturbed, though, and held out his hand. Damian raised his eyebrow. 

“I don’t get it,” he said. The other Drake took his wrist, which surprised Damian for a second, before lifting Damian’s hand toward his face.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Damian scowled, but went bug eyed when his fingers felt the thin threads stitching together the other Drake’s lips. He traced them before realizing he was touching the other Drake’s mouth and snatched his hand away. 

“What? But why?” he asked indignantly. The other Drake furrowed his eyebrows, turning his head back and forth, scanning the garden and darkness, before setting down the pencil and moving his hands in sign language. 

_You don’t like it when I talk,_ the other Drake said. Damian frowned. 

“Well, I don’t like it when the real Drake talks, but you seem fine. Besides, what does it matter that I don’t like Drake talking?”

The other Drake tapped the picture of the goggled figure. Damian squinted his eyes, finding the figure vaguely familiar. 

_It cares,_ the other Drake said. 

“It?” Damian frowned. He still couldn’t quite peg where he’d seen that figure before, or if he’d ever seen it before. He watched as the other Drake raised two fingers and drew what looked like a broad V over his chest. Damian’s eyebrows shot up.

“Nightwing?” Damian exclaimed. The other Drake made a shushing motion, and shook his head. “Grayson?” Damian asked, confused. The other Drake shook his head again. “The other Grayson?” Damian said quietly. The other Drake nodded. 

“But why?” Damian cried. “Why would he do something like this?”

_So you like it here,_ the other Drake said. 

“He wanted me to stay,” Damian half mumbled, remembering the last dinner, and all those button eyes gleaming at him beneath the orange light. Suddenly, Damian felt very frightened. 

“How can I trust you?” Damian said accusingly. He wished he brought a weapon or even a kitchen knife along with him instead of one measly pencil. “How do I know you’re not just lying to me?” The other Drake looked at Damian sadly and stood up, offering his hand out. Damian stood, ignoring it. The other Drake then headed off the path of the garden and into the darkness of the woods. Damian stared at him incredulously, tripping after him when he realized the other Drake wasn’t stopping. Behind him, the orange lit windows of the house looked as though they were watching him. 

Damian caught up, trudging alongside the other Drake. The grass felt weirdly soft beneath his feet, almost not like grass at all. 

“Where are we going?” Damian asked. The other Drake didn’t say anything, and Damian watched as the grass grew thin and uniform, the trees around them losing texture to their bark before growing thin and spindly. It looked like something out of a bad computer animated design. The world seemed to blur and buzz white around the edges. Just as Damian thought he saw a clearing, the manor rose up in the horizon. 

“What?” Damian gawked. “How is that possible?” He turned around, finding the stretch of woods instead of the usual city lights blinking in the far distance. 

_This is its world. This is all it needed to please you,_ the other Drake said, stopping near the edge of the woods where it was dark. He looked at Damian frantically. _You have to be careful. It will stop at nothing to have you._

Damian’s hands felt cold. 

“But why does he - it - want me?” he asked. The other Drake made a shrugging motion.

_Lonely, maybe,_ the other Drake said. _Or hungry._

Damian shivered.

“What do I do?” Damian asked, but the other Drake didn’t answer him. The other Drake was looking past Damian now, and Damian turned around, squinting at the distance. He thought he saw a figure standing on the front porch. It was the other Grayson, waiting for him. Suddenly, the other Drake backed away, before turning into the woods and running. 

“Hey!” Damian yelled through a whisper, but the other Drake had disappeared. Damian gulped, turning back to find the distant button eyes pinned to him. The other Grayson had found him. Damian trudged his legs leadenly towards the manor.

“Sorry I missed you, were you on a walk?” the other Grayson asked as Damian went up the steps one by one. The other Grayson set a hand over Damian’s back. It felt cold, like a stranger’s, but dangerous and sharp, as though it could take his head off with a swipe. 

“Yes,” Damian said, following the other Grayson into the manor. He needed to get out of here fast, but the other Grayson steered him towards the kitchen, The light seemed somehow paler now, coloring the counters and walls wrong. It looked less and less like the real manor. 

“Where is everyone?” Damian asked. The house was deathly silent. Even the normal sounds, like the lights buzzing or the fridge huffing were gone.

“Oh, resting,” the other Grayson said. “Or, at least they should be.”

The other Grayson led him towards the table, pulling out a chair. Damian sat down carefully. The bowl of fruit was still in the middle of the table, looking decidedly softer and darker. 

“What’s going on?” Damian asked. The other Grayson ducked behind him into the kitchen, before reemerging with a silver platter. He slide it before Damian. On it were two black buttons, a long needle, and a spool of dark thread. Damian swallowed thickly. 

“What’s this?” Damian said dumbly, unable to tear his eyes away from the buttons. They stared at him. The other Grayson sat down in the chair beside him.

“Now I know we’ve talked about this, but I just wanted to ask you again.”

Damian tried imagining the needle sinking into his eye. It looked silvery thin on the platter, but when he imagined it, the needle was thick and heavy in his eye. 

“I don’t know about this,” Damian said, pushing his chair out. The other Grayson caught his hand, thumb and pointer finger pinching just a bit too tightly around his wrist. 

“Now Damian, I know you’re scared,” the other Grayson said. “But it’s only a moment’s pain for a lifetime of happiness.”

Damian was quiet. He didn’t know what to say. He just wanted the other Grayson to let go.

“Of course, if you don’t like black, we have other colors. Red, purple, pink - and green of course. Your favorite.”

Damian’s palm was sweating beneath the other Grayson’s smooth, cold one.

“How do you know green is my favorite?” he asked. The other Grayson smoothed a thumb over the back of his hand. 

“I am your brother. Or, rather, the best of your brother. It is my duty to know these things.”

Damian pulled his hand out from the other Grayson’s.

“I’m too tired to make a decision. Maybe some other time,” Damian said, scuttling backwards towards the hall. The other Grayson got halfway out of his chair. His movement was sharp, his shoulders hunched. Like a predator. 

“Would you like me to tuck you in?” he asked, forehead folded in concern. Damian shook his head.

“No, no. I’ll be fine,” Damian said, turning the corner of the kitchen. He wondered if he looked back if the other Grayson would still be there. 

Damian ran upstairs to his bedroom, past all the other rooms that Damian swore were completely empty. He locked his door behind him and tumbled into bed, squeezing his eyes shut in determination. His gut churned acidicly. He tried falling asleep, first clearing his mind, then thinking of Grayson, _his_ Grayson, lying beside him and combing his fingers through Damian’s hair until he fell asleep. It was sometime later that Damian finally felt his world spinning before sleep enveloped him.

When he woke, it wasn’t raining, and outside it was still dark.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the later update; college just started and college is impossible.

Damian’s first thought came in the form of Todd’s voice muttering ‘Fuck.’ Then he reprimanded himself for letting Todd’s crude vocabulary invade his. 

For a second, he let himself contemplate his situation as a dream or perhaps a coincidence. Maybe he’d woken up back at the manor before dawn, or the week’s rain had finally ceased - but there was a troubling twist in Damian’s gut, and he knew he was still in the other manor. Beneath the crack of his door, the light was still on. It was quiet, the manor lacking the usual nightly groans and creaks of an aging house. 

Damian shook it off. Getting back wasn’t a problem. There was more than one way back after all. It did trouble him, though, that something had prevented him from waking in his own room. Damian wasn’t stupid. He knew what it meant: the other Grayson didn’t want him leaving. 

Damian quietly stepped off his bed, inching around his room to find the floor lacking the creaky dips his own had. He was wearing nothing but his worn pajamas and was starting to feel quite ridiculous in them not to mention inadequate. They did, however, have two deep pockets on either side of the bottoms (one already filled with a candy bar) and Damian planned to make good use of them. 

His desk, to his surprise, was stocked with more drawing equipment than he had back home. The swords he usually hid in his closet were absent, and so Damian settled on tucking a few sharpened pencils into his pocket. They were better than nothing. 

Outside, the lights were dim and Damian jumped at the shadows of lamps and tables. He made his way as quietly as he could down the stairs. No one had interrupted him yet. 

The light was on in the kitchen. Damian wanted to get a knife, but he found the other Pennyworth in there, stirring something at the stove. It steamed but smelled of nothing. 

“Master Damian,” the other butler droned, turning towards Damian. His face was longer than before, when Damian saw him at dinner. In fact, it looked like his face was drooping off, his jaw low and slack. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

Damian eyed the knife block beneath the cup cabinet. They had the same elegantly carved hilts as the ones he saw his first visit. Now that he thought about it, they looked nothing like kitchen knives. If anything, they were daggers. 

“Just thirsty,” Damian said. He peered at the pot on the stove. “What are you cooking?”

This stumped the other butler. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “What would you like?” he asked. Damian stepped towards the cup cabinet. The other butler’s button eyes followed him. 

“I was going to get some water,” Damian said, reaching up for the cabinet. “Perhaps some soup to go along with it? I was having some trouble sleeping.”

“Of course,” the other butler said, and, filled with purpose, turned back towards the stove and began adding spices. With the other butler’s back turned, Damian swiped a dagger, finding it heavier than he expected, and tucked it in the hem of his pajamas. 

“This should take no time, Master Damian,” the other butler said. Damian nodded in reply.

“Uh huh. I’ll just wait in the living room,” Damian said, edging towards the doorway. 

“I’ll call you when it’s ready,” the other butler said. Damian kept his eyes on the butler until he left the room and turned down towards the dark, dark hall. The ceiling felt taller than he remembered, and the chandeliers swayed even though there was no wind. He thought he could hear spiders and insects scuttling but knew that to be his imagination. 

The drawing room door was open, the inside dark, but when Damian stepped through, a lamp clicked on. 

“It’s a little past your bedtime. Couldn’t sleep?”

The other Grayson was sitting on an elegantly curved chaise lounge, the creamy fabric making the other Grayson’s skin look pale in comparison. Behind him, the small door was shut.

“Here, take a seat,” the other Grayson said, gesturing towards the empty armchair across from him. When Damian didn’t move, he felt the carpet lurche beneath him, sending him stumbling towards the chair. Damian crossed his arms.

“Why are you keeping me here?” Damian demanded sharply. The other Grayson didn’t seem startled at Damian’s tone. 

“However do you mean?” the other Grayson asked. 

“I mean you’re not letting me leave. I’m not stupid. This is about the buttons, isn’t it?”

The other Grayson rested his chin on his hand, fingers drumming along his jaw. It looked like a habit, one the real Grayson didn’t have. 

“You think I’m keeping you here, but isn’t this an escape?” the other Grayson implored. “Your father was keeping you in that manor of his, and to get free, you came to _me,_ remember?”

Damian remembered, but when he thought of his father, he didn’t feel angry anymore. 

“That’s because he wants what’s best for me,” Damian said. “I was being childish.”

“Not childish,” the other Grayson corrected. “You simply didn’t know. And right now, you’re just a bit afraid of what I have to offer. I also want what’s best for you, you know.”

“Then why should I stay with you?” Damian challenged. “If you both want the best for me, why can’t I stay with my father?” 

The other Grayson grinned, and his teeth looked sharp.

“Well, simply put, my best is better than his best.”

Damian didn’t know what to say. The other Grayson had a way of making his words sound official. 

“Now why don’t we go upstairs? If you’re not sleepy, I can tell you a story.”

Damian glared at the other Grayson. 

“I don’t want to hear your stupid story,” Damian said, stomping his foot.

The other Grayson flattened his lips in hurt, and it would look so much like the real Grayson if the expression were just a little less angry. The other Grayson could get angry, _really_ angry, but not so quick, especially with Damian. 

“I think you’d like it. It’s about my time in the circus. Don’t you like my circus stories?”

Damian did, but he liked it when the real Grayson told them. He had a feeling all of the other Grayson’s stories would be made up anyway.

“I don’t care about your circus days,” Damian said. “There is no use lingering in the past.” 

The other Grayson looked shocked, and this gave Damian satisfaction but also a little sadness. He was glad to have said something that got a reaction out of the other Grayson, but the other Grayson’s reaction looked so much like how the real Grayson would have acted. Maybe the other Grayson’s stories were real. 

“Well, you haven’t heard my circus stories before. They’re better than any you’ve heard before, I can assure.”

Damian’s eyes twitched. 

“Better. You keep saying better. How are you actually better?”

The other Grayson seemed to look at him seriously now, all traces of sadness replaced with a smile. It made Damian wary.

“Well, for one, I’ll make sure you’re never lonely. I’d stay with you all day, keep you company. We can share all our meals together with the best food. We can go out as much as you’d like. I’d put you first before anyone, and most of all, I’d never _ever_ leave you.”

Damian glowered at the other Grayson.

“My Grayson may not always be by my side,” Damian said, “but he would never leave me either.”

The other Grayson raised a playful eyebrow.

“But hasn’t he?”

***

Damian felt shock and then anger bubble in his chest. He sputtered words before he found his voice again.

“You took him!” Damian croaked, pointing an accusing finger. The other Grayson merely raised his hands. “You took him and played me all along!”

“I was merely preparing,” the other Grayson said. “Besides, you’ll forget about him before long.”

Damian clenched his fists, feeling white hot anger rush through his veins.

“You’re horrible!” he screamed, lunging forward. “You’re nothing but a horrible creature who doesn’t deserve to be with anyone!”

Damian was breathing heavily, and he realized he had the dagger in his hands. The other Grayson touched his cheek tenderly with his fingers, and when he pulled away, there was a long, dark cut. Something black and oily, like tar, seeped out thickly. The other Grayson’s shoulders were shaking in anger.

“How could you?” he rasped. “To your own _brother._ ”

Damian broadened his shoulders and stiffened his posture. 

“You are not my brother,” he declared, then yelped when the other Grayson caught him by the scruff of his collar. The dagger fell from his hands. The ground seemed to fly beneath him. He struggled in the other Grayson’s grip, but the other Grayson was strong. 

“That is not how you talk to family,” the other Grayson scolded angrily. Damian was tugged up the stairs and to his room, before being pushed inside. 

“Consider this a lesson,” the other Grayson said, then slammed the door shut. Damian ran to it, slamming his weight against the wood and jamming the knob, but to no avail. Then he went to the window, but found the sills locked shut.

“How did this happen?” Damian whispered to himself, feeling hopeless. He watched as the hall light outside flicked off, leaving his room in darkness. When his eyes adjusted, he looked himself in the standing mirror, but saw no reflection. He thought of Grayson, his Grayson, tucking him in and how warm and familiar he felt beside him. He thought of Grayson’s hurt look when Damian pushed him away. 

Damian crawled into the bed, feeling tears prickle the corners of his eyes. He burrowed himself under the blankets, trying to imagine himself at home. He felt a sharp prod in his pocket and realized he never took out the pencils. He plucked them out then threw them onto the floor. Then his fingers brushed the candy bar he’d tucked into his pocket earlier, and pulled it out. He unwrapped it hurriedly and took a bite. It was chocolatey and gooey, filled with little bits of nuts. Damian realized Drake had bought him the right one, the one Grayson had made him fond of. The candy made him think of his real brothers, and Damian felt something pinch in his chest. In the darkness by himself, Damian couldn’t stop the warm tears sliding down his cheeks. Maybe it all was a bad dream, and he’d wake up…

Damian didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the door creaked open. Damian blinked blearily in the dark, realizing the shorter shadow could only belong to the other Drake.

“Drake?” Damian questioned, only to receive a _shh!_ Realizing this was urgent, Damian crawled out of bed. “What’s going on? Where’s the other Grayson?”

The other Drake didn’t respond, and only took his wrist and started running down the hall. All the lamps were off, the only light coming from the stars outside the open windows. When they passed by the kitchen, it was empty, showing no trace of the other Pennyworth and the soup he promised to make. 

“Where is everyone?” Damian asked, but the other Drake continued running until they were both standing before the old drawing room. Damian was finally given a chance to look at the other Drake, and found that his skin looked nearly white, while his hair had taken on a strange gleam. The other Drake unlooped something from his neck and draped it over Damian’s. It felt heavy. 

_Key,_ the other Drake signed. _There is only one_

Damian opened his mouth to ask why, but then the kitchen light flickered on down the hall.

“Is somebody there?” the other Grayson’s voice called out, strict and sharp. “That better not be you, Damian.”

_Hurry,_ the other Drake signed, and pushed Damian through the drawing room door. 

“But what about you?” Damian asked. The other Drake only looked at him sadly.

_Too late for me,_ he signed, then glanced sharply behind him and signed _run._

Damian did.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. College is hard.

The house was dark when Damian returned, and he ran into the corners of tables and arm rests of sofas before colliding with something warm and soft.

“Oof,” they grunted, and for a second Damian was seized with fear, afraid that somehow not even the small door had worked and he was still trapped in the other world. Maybe it was the other Todd, awakened from whatever depths in the mansion he was stored in, ready to steer him around right into the long, inescapable arms of the other Grayson. Then firm hands steadied his shoulders and a lamp clicked on. Drake stared down at him in bewilderment. 

“Damian?” 

Drake was still dressed in the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d worn before tucking down into the cave that evening. Damian realized he must have just finished for the night. 

“Damian, where in the world have you been?”

Damian realized he must have looked like a mess. The knees of his pajama bottoms were worn and ripped, his hair in disarray. Drake took his hands and examined the heels of his palms, which were bruised from the other Grayson’s grip. His eyes also felt a bit sticky and raw. Drake narrowed his eyes. 

“You weren’t out, were you?” he asked accusingly. “You know you’re supposed to be grounded.”

Damian felt his lip tremble before hot tears blurred his eyes. He dipped his head in embarrassment, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt and trying to swallow down his sobs. Drake was silent for a moment, and Damian imagined him smirking down at him. _A baby, just as I thought,_ he’d say smugly, but instead, two warm arms wrapped around his body, and a soft shirt soaked the tears from his cheeks. Damian stiffened. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Drake said awkwardly, pulling away to look down at Damian. He didn’t look pitying, which Damian was thankful for. Instead, he looked concerned and a bit tired. It wasn’t the usual late night tired that Drake looked like. It was more of a Grayson tired, a Todd tired, or a Father tired. Drake cleared his throat. “Come on. You need sleep. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Damian let himself be guided upstairs and into his room. He wiped profusely at his eyes, wishing they wouldn’t look so red. His room, in the dark, looked worldly different from his other room, even though the same furniture were in the same place. He clambered into his bed and beneath the sheets. Drake stood awkwardly in the doorway. 

“Do you want to be alone, or…”

Damian turned so his back was to the door.

“ _-Tt-_ you may stay if you insist,” he said. He heard Drake give a light snort before the bed sank down beside him. The covers shifted, and though they slept with their backs turned to one another, a foot in between, Damian felt warm and safe. 

***

When Damian woke, it was early morning, and his room was filled with sleepy soft light. Drake was staring at him.

“Drake,” Damian addressed, still ashamed that Drake had caught him in such a state. Drake, however, didn’t look ready to goad, and instead looked worried. He chewed on his bottom lip, which was much too chapped. 

“Damian,” he said, hushed, and hesitated. “I… Bruce didn’t come back last night.”

Somehow, Damian realized, he sort of already knew.

“I lost track of him in the middle of the morning. One moment his tracker was blinking as always, and I went upstairs for one moment, and the next thing I knew, he was gone.” Drake looked at him guiltily.

“Todd?” Damian whispered. Drake seemed surprised for a moment, before frowning.

“I haven’t heard from him since yesterday, when he left. Neither has Oracle. I tried calling him all night, which, I mean, this is Jason. Usually he goes missing for weeks, but…” Drake hesitated. “Dick’s gone. Bruce is gone. This can’t be a coincidence.”

“We haven’t seen Pennyworth in days,” Damian added. Drake’s eyes sharpened. 

“Damian, this is bad. Bruce, Jason, and Dick - the situation isn’t good, but at least it isn’t new. But Alfred?” Drake looked more panicked, before zeroing in on Damian. “Damian… where were you last night?”

Damian didn’t know how to answer that. Where had he been, really? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really know what the other world was. Was it an alternate dimension? But how could it be? This dimension didn’t seem to run on its own, like other alternate dimensions did. Instead, it seemed to exist solely to be noticed by Damian. There was also magic involved. There had to be. Damian just… had never seen it used that way before. 

Drake was quiet as he studied him. 

“I… I was here,” Damian said. Drake looked at him doubtfully. 

“Here?” he asked. “As in here, the manor?” Drake sighed. “Damian, when I couldn’t find Bruce, I went to check your room, just in case, and you weren’t there.”

“I was, but… really far away,” Damian said. Drake propped himself up.

“Look, Damian. I’m not Bruce or Dick or Jason even. You can tell me the truth. I don’t care if you snuck out on patrol or were just walking Titus around the yard.” When Damian didn’t say anything, Drake sighed. “At least tell me this. Do you know anything about where they could be?”

Damian nodded numbly. Drake looked at him expectantly.

“I think I know who took them.”

Drake inhaled sharply. “Is it someone we know? Or is it someone new? Who is it?”

“Some _thing_ new,” Damian said. “I don’t think it is human.”

Drake’s eyebrows were now scrunched in concentration and confusion.

“Damian, if you know what’s going on, you have to tell me. Or, if you don’t want to tell me, we can get Babs or Cass. They’re probably busy, but if this is as big of a deal as it’s starting to feel to be, then -”

“I’d tell you,” Damian said quietly, “but you wouldn’t believe me.”

Drake tilted his head, looking down at Damian quizzically. 

“Really?” Drake asked, intrigued. “And why is that?”

Damian felt his cheeks color. “Because it will sound childish and ill conceived.”

_Most things you say are,_ Damian imagined Drake saying, but instead, Drake sat up straighter and his eyes gleamed. 

“Oh yeah? Try me.”

Damian huffed, clutching the covers closer to his chest. He looked away from Drake’s probing eyes. 

“Fine then. There’s a door. A small door. In one of the parlors outside the ballroom.” He spared a fleeting glance at Drake, and was met with blank confusion. “I was looking around for something to draw because Father insisted on this demeaning punishment of his. I… I opened the door, and the first time there was just plaster. I thought maybe it was a sealed up vent. You know how Pennyworth is about the garden mice. But then… but then the next day, when I went back, the plaster was gone, and there was this tunnel.”

Damian paused, wondering if he’d lost Drake completely. He knew if he told his father this, his father would have dismissed him two sentences in. As much as he hated to admit it, Drake’s mind moved similarly to his father’s. But, when he looked up, Drake simply looked curious. Almost in wonder. 

“I crawled through,” Damian continued. “It was big enough, and I don’t know why, but I wanted to. And, at the end-” Drake breathed in quietly “-was the same parlor, but with all the furniture uncovered.”

“Didn’t you say it was a vent? It could have just led to another parlor room,” Drake reasoned. Damian shook his head.

“That was what I thought, so I decided to go back to bed. But then…” Damian shuddered as flashes of the other Grayson filled his vision in the brief dark moments as he blinked. “T-the kitchen light was on, and I saw Grayson, or, I mean, I-I thought I saw Grayson. He looked like Grayson, or, at least he _did_ , but when he turned around-”

Damian felt sharpness pinch his eye and the phantom of something slow dripping down his arm.

“-he didn’t have eyes. He had… he had buttons.”

Damian was afraid to look at Drake. He hated it when Drake thought he was foolish or childish. It was embarrassing whenever Drake proved him wrong, but it was so much more worse when Drake refused to believe him when something Damian saw was true. 

“You don’t believe me,” Damian stated. Drake seemed lost, his mind in a whirl, but he stared at Damian head on.

“You have no reason to lie,” Drake said, but still seemed to be mulling over Damian’s words. “Is… is this like an alternate reality, then? Or, or some chemical concoction that’s making you see this? This sounds like something Scarecrow could be behind.”

Damian shook his head. “No, it’s too real, and Scarecrow plays with fear. This place… it’s not scary. At first.”

Drake frowned. “An alternate reality, then? Somehow? Were there more of us?”

Damian swallowed. “Yes. There was another Grayson, another Todd, another Father, another Pennyworth-”

“Another me? Another you?” Drake asked. Damian shook his head.

“Just another you… and you didn’t talk. Couldn’t talk.” 

Drake looked a little disturbed by this. He certainly wasn’t the loudest mouth in the house (not by a longshot) but he certainly gave his two cents given the opportunity.

“So an alternate reality where everyone has button eyes and you don’t exist,” Drake concluded, seeming a bit bewildered by his own words. “But how is that related to everyone disappearing all of a sudden?”

“Because I made a mistake,” Damian said indignantly. “I don’t know how, but this Grayson knew I existed and knew everything I was annoyed at, and he had this other manor where everything was better, and he wanted me to stay there-”

“Stay? Forever?” Drake’s eyes boggled.

“Yes, that’s what stay means,” Damian said crossly, before softening. “I-I. I was foolish. I fell for his tricks and I kept going back. Then he wanted to sew buttons in my eyes so I would stay, but I said no. He must have been angry or something, because the next morning, Grayson was just… gone.”

Drake was silent. Then,

“Are you okay?” he asked. Damian looked up in surprise. Drake looked concerned, which was a look that usually annoyed Damian (Damian was not a child who needed to be taken care of) but right then it made him feel… almost warm. 

“I’m fine,” Damian said, and lept out of bed before Drake could detect the waver in his voice. “Come on. We need a plan.”

***

Drake traced the edges of the door with his gloved fingertip. They’d suited up after conjuring a plan in the batcave, the map behind them on the computer ominously fewer in trackers. Damian kept the door key strung around his neck, the weight a reassuring presence. He tugged on it unconsciously, the cord rubbing warmly against the back of his neck. 

Drake looked up and held out his palm. 

“Alright. You ready?”

Damian scowled. “Of course,” he said, but didn’t remove the key from his neck. Drake raised an eyebrow. 

“Well?” Drake prompted. Damian shrugged his shoulders, feeling the ghost of the other Grayson’s hands resting there. He kneeled onto the carpet beside Drake, and lowered his head to slot the key into the hole. It fit in clunkily, and with a twist, the door fell open. 

“Woah,” Drake breathed as he stared at the hollow corridor. Damian felt his gut curl at the sight and his hand tighten around the key. “It’s real.”

Damian didn’t respond. As irrational as it was, he was afraid, now that the door was open, the other Grayson would be able to hear them. Drake spared Damian a furrowed look.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. He glanced at the door, looking more marveled than afraid. Damian squared his shoulders, feeling more formidable in his Robin gear. 

“ _-Tt-_ Let’s just get this over with,” he said, and began crawling through the tunnel before he could second guess it. He heard Drake crouch and crawl in behind him, huffing a little at the tighter fit. Admittedly, Damian felt his shoulders loosen a bit at Drake’s presence. He hadn’t realized how solitary he felt in the other world. 

For a moment, all Damian could hear was the sound of their scuffling. The tunnel felt oddly longer than before, though Damian suspected it could be due to his wariness towards the situation. At last, though, Damian’s forehead, brushed the other wooden door, and with a light prod, it fell open. 

The drawing room was dark. Though the silhouettes of the furniture were familiar, the color seemed off, as if everything were darker and rotting. Drake emerged behind him, surveying the room cautiously. He gave Damian a questioning look, and Damian led them out towards the hall. The both paused at the kitchen light at the end, seemingly the only light on in the house. There was a faint, scratching sound. Drake rested a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian moved onward. At the end of the hall, he stepped bravely into the light, Drake behind him.

The other Grayson was seated at the kitchen table, staring right at them. There was no tea, no humming. Instead, he was sharpening a knife on a block. It was one of the kitchen knives, with the oddly ornate hilts. He had been waiting for them.

“You’re home,” the other Grayson said. Damian felt Drake stiffen behind him. The other Grayson tilted his head sharply at the movement. His eyes glistened, and Damian caught his lip swiping out to lick his bottom lip. “And you brought… a guest. Will he be joining us for dinner?”

Damian glared at the other Grayson and stepped forward. Upon a closer look, the other Grayson was pale as ice, the sickly yellow light warming his skin. Blue veins climbed from beneath what looked to be a strange rendition of the Nightwing costume, except the blue bird was swapped like lines of gold. 

“Where is Grayson,” Damian demanded. The other Grayson frowned and pursed his lips like a parent disappointed in their ill mannered child. 

“Oh, right. _Him._ Don’t you worry now. I tucked him somewhere safe. He’ll feel right at home.” The other Grayson turned his attention to Drake. “You now. You must be Tim.” The other Grayson had gotten out of his chair and crept closer almost silently, dagger loose in his grasp, almost like it was an afterthought. Damian didn’t let it out of his sight. “You look like you’ve been up all night. Perhaps you can use a little snack…”

“Look,” Drake said, using the rationalizing voice he used with all sorts of Gotham crazies. “You have some things that belong to us. Hand them over and we’ll be out of your hair.”

The other Grayson seemed to tense in excitement. “What’s in it for me?”

Drake hesitated.

“Nothing,” Damian stated. “You took what rightfully belongs to us. We owe you nothing.”

The other Grayson leaned against the back of a kitchen chair, as if sensing this wouldn’t be an easy win. 

“You of all people should know nothing is fair,” the other Grayson said. He looked at Damian expectantly. Damian grit his teeth.

“What do you want,” Damian asked begrudgingly. The other Grayson looked gleeful. 

“You, of course.”

Drake stepped forward, putting an arm between the other Grayson and Damian. 

“Why do you want from him?” Drake demanded. “Cause if you think for one second-”

“Hey, hey,” the other Grayson waved his arms. “Slow down. I don’t want him for anything.” He looked at Damian straight in the eye. “I don’t care if you spend everyday in your room, if you want to go patrol every night or never step out again. I want you for you. There’s nothing you ever need to do to belong here, Damian.”

They both halted a bit at the other Grayson’s words. Something softened, admittedly, in Damian at the thought of never having to earn a place in his so called family and instead being accepted just because. But Damian wanted his brothers. He wanted Pennyworth. He wanted his father. 

“I’ll ask one last time. Where are they,” Damian demanded. The other Grayson looked disappointed and began playing with his dagger, flipping hit agitatedly between his gloved fingers. Damian wondered if he just returned from patrol, or whatever passed as patrol in this world.

“You know,” the other Grayson began, and Damian braced himself despite the other Grayson’s demure attitude, “everyone belongs somewhere.”

Damian bristled.

“Eventually, at least.” The other Grayson looked more solemn than Damian had ever seen him before. He looked almost sad, as if remembering a long ago memory. “Not all realities are loved, but we still need somewhere to go.” The other Grayson’s eyes gleamed. “I created this world for people just like us, Damian.”

Damian crossed his arms. “I _have_ a place to go,” he said. “And it certainly isn’t here.”

The other Grayson quirked the corner of his lip.

“Hm.”

It seemed they reached a standstill, and the other Grayson didn’t look willing to talk any further. And, Damian knew deep down, even with Drake, they won’t be able to get out of here with the others unharmed. He had to play this right. But how? What were the other Grayson’s weaknesses? Were they similar to the real Grayson’s? Probably not, but… 

“So you’re just like Grayson, huh?” Damian probed. Drake cast him a questioning look.

“Even better,” the other Grayson said, much to Damian’s annoyance. He had just about enough of the other Grayson’s insistence, but he had to be patient.

“Well, Grayson loves games,” Damian said. “He never says no to a game.” 

The other Grayson had stopped playing with his knife and began tapping the tip of the blade against the kitchen table. _Tap tap tap_

“What a coincidence,” the other Grayson said. Damian swallowed. 

“He especially loves a good chase,” Damian said. The other Grayson stared at Damian intensely, and Damian wouldn’t be surprised if he’d forgotten about Drake entirely. _Tap tap tap_

“What are you suggesting?” the other Grayson inquired. Damian tried not to let his triumph show.

“A game. If I catch you, you return everyone unharmed and let us go.”

The other Grayson tutted. 

“Two against one? That’s hardly fair.” The other Grayson pretended to think. “How about this. If you catch all of us - me, Jason, Tim, your father - I’ll return your little friends. But -” the other Grayson looked excited “-if you fail, you will stay here.” 

Damian flexed his jaw.

“I’ll even let that one go,” the other Grayson nodded at Drake, but there was a slyness that made Damian suspicious. “Deal?”

Damian looked at Drake. Drake nodded. 

“Deal,” they said. The other Grayson smiled sharply.

“Close your eyes now,” he said, twirling his finger. Damian frowned, suspicious of what the other Grayson was playing at. 

“What?”

“Close your eyes,” the other Grayson repeated, “and count to ten. That’s how all good games of tag start, no?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos appreciated!


End file.
